


When Stiles Met Jackson

by Venchaser



Series: Stiles's Totally Average Student Life [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Fluff, Hurt, M/M, Student!Jackson, Student!Stiles, Treat Yo' Self, University Life, Working!Derek, conflicted feelings, so you had a bad day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 07:45:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2460446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venchaser/pseuds/Venchaser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hey, I'm your new neighbour!<br/>Hey, Don't I know you?</p><p>Or the awkward realization the new guy next door is the one who stood you up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Stiles Met Jackson

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, so apologies for any remaining mistakes.
> 
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!
> 
> I hope you guys like it. Don't worry, this will be a Sterek series.  
> Be sure to check out my other fics! :)
> 
> Cheers! V.

Stiles punched the wall. Hard. He was upset, frustrated, and frankly, he didn’t give a damn anymore.

It was the eighteenth of September. Resits had ended, everyone was happy. Right? Guess again. Stiles hadn’t spoken to any of his friends in an entire month, save for the occasional pre-exam chat with those who shared a similar fate (or curse). He felt isolated and forgotten. His anger was fuelled even more by the fact that Lydia had just posted a picture on Facebook of her, Allison and Scott enjoying mojitos in the sun at a local café. Screw them. I hope they get a sunburn or something. How dare they not invite him?

The other part from which Stiles’s frustration stemmed, was the lack of sex. Perhaps a bit more specific, the lack of Derek’s warmth on him. He missed his... actually, what was Derek to him? Since the Tinder date fiasco, they had fooled around for a while. Pure exquisite pleasure. Passionate love and meaningful conversations. But was meaningful the right word? They talked, yes. Open? Perhaps. But then, somewhere down the line, it went bad. It sank, deeper and deeper into the abyss. Either Derek was too busy with work, or Stiles was drowning in a truckload of academic work. No playtime for both of them. In retrospective, Stiles realized they never acted like a couple. They never went on dates, never bought gifts for each other. No romantic confessions of love in the pouring rain. Nothing. Nothing had changed, really, Stiles was still the slightly weird kid with a loud mouth who made out with the sexy older brother and no one knew.  Except the new physical dimension to their relationship. That was novel. Sweaty ecstasy, sheets twisted and curled, clawing deeper into the fabric as Derek hit the sweet spot over and over again, until all Stiles could see was a white bliss.

But that’s gone now, he bitterly thought. All it was, was mindless fucking. And everyone else was having fun. They had forgotten him. He glanced down his hand, his knuckles throbbing painfully, slightly swollen and red. He paced through his dorm room, back and forth like a caged animal. Paranoia; people were excluding him on purpose. He eventually settled on his bed, attempting to even out his breath. He tried to flush out all the bad thoughts. He emptied his head, and tried to focus on enjoyable things. Nothing came up, unfortunately. Still, brooding all day when the sun was out was not on his agenda. Screw everyone. I’m going to have fun on my own, he thought.

To change the pace, Stiles decided the first order of business was to clean his room. Papers were scattered, biros, empty were spread out strategically across the tiny room. Balls of tissues hurdled together next to the trash bin. Binders were laying on the floor, begging to be picked up. Dirty clothes and questionably smelling socks were hidden underneath his bed. It was a mess. Typical post-exam battleground.

The red walls of his room were decorated with numerous movie posters: Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, and a French poster of the Planet of the Apes movie. The original of course. Stiles did not really like the new movies.

He jumped over the chaos, to his desk and over it to open the windows. The air in the room was stale and constraining. The fresh air immediately rejuvenated Stiles and some of his darker thoughts were blown away by summer’s breeze.

Stiles’s dormitory was a private-owned student home, in the centre of Antwerp. From his room, he had a picturesque view of a little square. Across the square was one of the many churches the lively city had to offer. In the middle of the square was a babbling fountain. Sprays of refreshing water were ejected from the two fish statues which were placed on a glistening stone standard. The sun shone, the rays reflected in the water. It looked as if thousands of stars were hidden in the tiny waves of the translucent water. The reflections danced on the stone. Next to his window grew a magnificent oak tree. Its strong branches and luscious leaves threw a cooling shade over the building, casting also the fresh smell of nature over the entire plaza, which was a welcome change from the other, less pleasantly smelling fumes characteristic to any big city.

After last year’s snow disaster, Stiles’s dad decided Stiles could use a student room near the university. The commute from home to university was taxing and after Stiles was forced to stay with Derek for several days because of the blizzard, John Stilinski realized perhaps it was better this way. Plus, he secretly wanted to give Stiles a bit more space. And with his son out of the house, he would have a lot more freedom himself. Stiles had moved in shortly after the winter break.

After a good hour of cleaning, the room was void of any trash or mess. Stiles wiped off some sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. With an exasperated gasp, he let himself drop on his bed. The pressure of his weight invited a low moan from the bed’s wood. He glanced over to his nightstand, the clock announced it was three o’ clock. He turned his back to clock, and closed his eyes. He was swept away in a dark haze of the dull buzzing down at the plaza and bubbling of the fountain’s streaming water. Occasionally, he heard loud thuds, as if someone was unloading something from a moving truck.

‘Hmm, it’s way too early to sleep.” Stiles said to no one in particular. ‘You know what? Treat yo’ Self! I’m going shopping.’

Stiles quickly changed into something more fashionable than sweatpants and a black t-shirt with a Chewbacca print. He grabbed his wallet and stuffed it down his blazing messenger bag, ready to hit town. Or more precisely, the shops.

As he locked his door, he noticed a bunch of boxes by the door of the adjacent room. Looks like I’m gonna have a new neighbour, he thought. Better say ‘Hi!’ when the new person is all settled in. Outside, a big moving van stood waiting dutifully. Traffic wasn’t allowed, usually. Only exceptional traffic, such as moving vans, was permitted now and then.

That was one big advantage of living in the big city: you could go shopping any time you wanted and then go home quickly to drop off the spoils of war, only to go for a second rampaging shopping spree. It was a truly religious experience. Stiles navigated through some side streets and soon arrived at the main street; a long strip adorned with shops on both sides of the boulevard. On holidays and in the weekend you couldn’t wedge a screwdriver in the masses that came here, but in the week, when everyone else was either at school or at work, it was heaven. Stiles leisurely visited the different stores. He stopped by WE to buy a new pair of brown chino pants; he browsed the infinitely long rows of candy in Greenberg’s Candy Emporium, treating himself to a generous amount of sour cherry soda-pop sweets and vanilla fudge. He then continued down the tree-filled lane down to the railway station, a place filled with memories. Stiles did not go there for nostalgia’s sake, God no. He went to get himself a Caramel Frappuccino to cool himself down in this blazing heat. Shopping can be very tiring sometimes. But it nevertheless remains quite rewarding. There was a small line, but that was to be expected. The coffee bar was filled with travellers, students who were enjoying their newfound freedom, elderly couples and a few high school learners. Don’t they have to be at school? Stiles wondered. The queue shortened, and Stiles absently-minded observed other people. He sometimes wondered how it was to be a different person. The most fun thing to do was to imagine parts of their lives. The more fantastical and improbable, the better.

‘Your order, sir?’

Sir? That was a new one. Stiles didn’t think he looked that old. He ordered his drink, got a weird look from the barista when he was said his name and then continued along the counter, waiting for his frozen coffee. When they called out his name, ‘Style?’, he was greeted with another odd glance. They’ll never get my name right, he mentally sobbed. It was too crowded in the overhyped coffee-chain. All the good seats were taken and the air-conditioning was a bit too cool.

Back outside, the sun was shining as ruthless as ever, but armed with his cool drink, Stiles was ready for round two. The street seemed to be more hectic than it was before he entered Starbucks. Business men, sweating profusely, briskly walked over the pavement, giggling schoolgirls were fawning over the newest girl magazines – posters of the cast of The Maze Runner were included – and college students were milling about.

‘Blergh’ Stiles muttered, sipping his iced coffee.

Stiles had no problem whatsoever to move around the station at this time of day. Derek usually came home around six. He’d be gone long before Derek would take his usual shortcut to his home.

The second round turned out to be quite short; only a visit to the bookstore. The fading light was filtered through the stained windows. Little particles of dust danced in the dull rays. The store sold mostly second hand book, but also had section dedicated to new arrivals. It was obvious that was the better half of the store. The second hand books were covered with some dust. Stiles always felt like Indiana Jones, ready to discover a long forgotten relic. Or in this case, books. Stiles loved novels, being able to plunge into a fantasy world, or just a different world is all someone sometimes needs. One moment you’re in a boring room, confined by four walls, and a second later you’re combating dragons, playing a Quidditch match, exploring Wonderland or trying to stay alive in during the annual Hunger Games. Stiles’s eyes fell on a particular book, _The Perks of Being a Wallflower_. The cover was a bit tattered, but it was a first edition. He had heard a lot about the book and the movie, but never got around to seeing or reading it.

‘Now is as good a time as any!’ Stiles figured. There was no one was in the store, except the old clerk, who was probably as deaf as a sorority girl is drunk at a mixer. The man smiled friendly when Stiles handed over the book. He probably recognized Stiles, who had spent a great deal of time in this shop.

‘Oh, is this book on sale?’ asked Stiles when he noticed the balance. Forty percent off. That’s a nice deal.

‘No, but we employees get a store-discount. And boy, I see you here so often. You really must love books. I don’t mind sharing my bonus then.’

 ‘But is it really okay? I mean, that’s a pretty big discount.’ The old clerk just winked, eyes enlarged by his thick glasses, as Stiles handed over the money.

‘Until next time.’ His wrinkled hand shaking faintly.

*

Stiles made his way back home at a relaxed pace. He sauntered, sometimes lingering at shops’ windows, admiring an outfit or whatever else that was being displayed. The sun had started to set. A sooty ginger coloured the heavenly canvas. Here and there a lone cloud floated, content with its solitude. Stiles related to the clouds, he felt free and unbothered by anyone else. Screw Scott, Derek, everyone. He managed just fine on his own. The bags he was carrying were a confirmation of that; filled with books, sweets and clothes, rustling gratifyingly.

The moving van was gone, and the windows of the neighbouring room were opened. Music escaped from the apartment. Whoever’s in there, Stiles mused, they’ve got a great taste in music.

Once Stiles had safely placed his loot next to his bed, he quickly took a peek in the mirror, making sure he looked somewhat presentable. Save his hair, which was a bit wet from perspiration, he appeared decent enough for a quick ‘hello’.

The tower boxes in the hall had vanished.

At least the guy, or girl, has the decency to clean up. That’s good. Stiles previous neighbour, a third year med student, was horrible when it came to cleaning. Moving boxes from a year ago had graced the hall with their presences until when the doctor-in-training finally moved to a dorm closer to the medical department.

Knock-knock. Stiles first wanted to knock a silly tune, but decided he could goof around when he knew his new dorm mate a bit better.

The music was lowered, and footsteps neared the wooden door. When the door opened, Stiles immediately let out a jubilant ‘Welcome to the building! I’m Stiles!’. The guy in the door initially had a disinterested, almost condescending expression on his face, but it quickly turned into a face of shock, as if he had seen a ghost, or an eighty year old woman in a transparent dress.

‘Stiles?!’

Wait a minute. This guy looked awfully familiar. Sandy hair, almost golden; piercing blue eyes of an angel; lips of the devil... It all came screaming back.

‘Holy f-, Jackson?’

‘Stiles?!’

*

Both young men stood there for a while, but it felt like an eternity. Stiles hands were clammy. His mouth was dry. What now? Should I run? No, bad idea. I live next door. Should I confront him with the fact he stood me up months ago? Stiles ran over a thousands of different scenarios what his next move would be. None seemed viable. In the end, he opted for a slightly unfocussed zombie stare.

Jackson was as baffled as Stiles. His mouth was slightly opened. Meanwhile, Adrian Lux was still playing in the background.

‘So,’ Jackson began. ‘How are you?’ He shifted his weight to his left foot, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. He began leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over chest. Shoulders still tense.

Stiles, having regained his quick wit after the initial shock, took a more assertive stance.

‘You fucking stood me up.’ Oh, yes. There was his bad mood again. And now he could take it out on a person who _actually_ deserved it.

‘About that…’ Jackson rustled through his hair, trying to play it cool.

‘No. Do you know what a shitty thing that was to do? You didn’t even respond to my texts afterwards. You didn’t even _grace_ me with an explanation. Just tell me this, was it all a practical, mean joke?’ Now it was Stiles’s turn to cross his arms. He tilted his head to the left, with a furious blaze in his eyes, waiting for Jackson’s response.

‘Shit, Stiles. Where do I begin?’

‘How about with “I’m sorry”?’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Not good enough.’

Despite his ferocious façade, Stiles was tired, just exhausted and his anger ebbed away as quick as it came.

‘You know what,’ before Jackson could give a decent reply, ‘Never mind.’ He had started to walk back to his room when Jackson, rather forceful, grabbed the back of his shirt.

‘Oy! What’s the big idea?!’

Jackson immediately loosened his grip, but did not let go.

‘Let me make it up.’ He sounded sincere enough and he had put on some serious puppy eyes, a truly strategic move.

‘You’re a bit too late for that, don’t you think?’

‘I know, I know. But really, let me explain. I’ll treat you to dinner! Just let me make up that lost date. No strings attached. I’ll explain everything.’

Stiles was now again face to face with Jackson. Stiles tapped his foot in an unsteady beat as his mind mulled the possibilities if he accepted Jackson’s offer. A free meal was always nice, but there was also a chance this was some sort of elaborate scheme and that Jackson would run away in the end and leave Stiles behind with the bill, which would be very high – Stiles was secretly already thinking which restaurant they’d go to. Semantically speaking, this guy would pay in more than one way then: treat Stiles to an exuberant dinner and Stiles still got to leave him without any remorse. Right? If I’m going to do this, I’ll need to take some precautions.

‘Fine.’ I reluctantly said, rolling his eyes and letting out a long sigh. ‘On three conditions, though. One, you will pay everything. No ifs or buts.’ Stiles took Jackson’s silence as an agreement ‘Second, I choose the restaurant.’ Jackson didn’t waver. ‘Third, once we arrive at the restaurant, you’ll put your wallet and phone on the table, near me. That way, I’m sure you won’t dash away when we get our bill. I’m telling you, this better not be a joke. Are we clear?’

Jackson frowned at the last condition, but didn’t fuss about it.

‘Hey, I promise. I’ll make it up. Believe me.’

‘I’ll pass, thank you. I’m not that gullible.’ He replied coldly.

Determinately, Jackson moved his hand to Stiles’s, who quickly withdrew his hand.

‘Don’t get cocky. Pick me up at six-thirty. You know where I live.’ And with that final statement, Stiles went back to his room, rejoicing the fact that he would have a delicious, if not exuberant, dinner tonight.

The moment Stiles closed his door, the time was five-thirty, he heard a loud ruckus coming from Jackson’s room, as if the older boy was rummaging fervently. The noise was then followed by Jackson’s rushed footsteps in the hall, which eventually descended down the stairwell, and into the street.

‘Is that mofo seriously making a run for it? He really is a capricious asshole.’ Stiles mumbled, as he stared out his window, seeing Jackson sprint across the square. ‘Ah, well. It’ll be cup ramen tonight then.’

*

However, at fifteen past six, when Stiles was about to ready the water for his noodles, there was a knock at his door. When he opened the door, he was greeted by a bouquet of red roses and a slight out of breath Jackson.

‘I’ll get my coat.’ Said Stiles as he took the flowers, feeling incredibly flattered, and unknowingly falling for Jackson again.

‘You mind if I switch clothes real quick?’ Jackson huffed.

‘Sure.’ Stiles said while he was admiring the roses. ‘You have fifteen more minutes.’

Unabashed, Jackson removed his shirt, revealing a perfectly sculpted body: well-defined pectoral muscles, a nice six-pack, and a taunting golden happy trail. The Greek Gods of Olympus would feel ashamed standing next to this perfection. Flashing a quick smirk, he returned to his room, with his shirt slung over his shoulder.

‘Don’t get too cocky!’ yelled Stiles, but he couldn’t supress the grin and scarlet blush that was gracing his features at the moment.  His heart had started to beat a bit faster, each beat adding more expectations to the evening. Stiles was on his way to either total bliss, fluttering in happiness, or a devastating heartbreak, stinging bitterly, brought on by his own callowness.

Meanwhile, the sky had cleared up entirely, a canvas only exhibiting the fiery pink of the setting sun.  At six-thirty, Jackson stood again in front of Stiles’s door, wearing a fitting black dress-shirt and matching pants with a huge smile.

‘I hope you liked the flowers.’ He said hopefully.

‘I did. But I thought you were escaping at first. Seeing you tend to suddenly not show up.’ That might have been a low blow, Jackson winced, but it was the truth. Stiles’s pride, not to mention self-confidence, had taken quite the fall that day.

‘C’mon, let’s go. I’m hungry.’ Stiles hurriedly added, sensing a change in atmosphere, and not in a good way.

The two walked for in silence for a while, with Jackson visibly trying to come up with something to say and Stiles clearly with food on his mind, trying to postpone the inevitable ‘mature’ conversation about what had exactly happened months ago.

The foot traffic was almost non-existent. The boulevard, which had been booming with people and life just a few hours ago, now was almost deserted. It provided Jackson with enough privacy and courage to begin a full confession.

‘Most of my friends are homophobes. My best friend, his name is Danny, is also gay, but when I see the shit he has to deal with… I don’t think I could handle it. There’s a reason I only posted body pictures on Tinder. I didn’t want anyone to recognize me. I only sent those face pics because I trusted you. Stiles, be certain of me when I say I really, I truly wanted to meet with you.  I was making my way to the railway station that day, running a bit late because of snow, but when I was almost there I bumped into some of my mates. When they saw I was all dressed up, they figured I had a date. They wanted to come along. I… I just couldn’t risk it. I gave them a weak excuse, meeting my grandma or something like that, and they bought it. But I had such a scare, I couldn’t bring myself up to… Well, you know. God, I’m so sorry. If I could turn back time, I would meet you there in at the station. I –‘

‘Stop right there. A part of me finds you disgusting, even repugnant. Are you that desperate to fit into the society’s big plan and get your friends’ approval?’ Jackson grew white, all the blood drained out of his face, which now began to harden with... anger? His jaw clenched. ‘But, I understand you too. Fear of rejection and stuff like that. Doesn’t change I’m still incredibly pissed you stood me up though. Plus, you could have asked to reschedule the date, or we could’ve agreed to meet somewhere else, more private if you’d just told me “why”. You hurt my feelings, you know. And how about now? Don’t you feel embarrassed, walking with me, so close?’

Colour flooded Jackson’s visage, his features softened again.

‘No. I really wanna make it up.’

‘You do?’

 Stiles took a risk. He extended his hand while maintaining eye contact with Jackson. It was perhaps a bit forceful, a bit too passive-aggressive, but it was the only way Stiles could see how honest Jackson was. To his own surprise, Jackson immediately grabbed his hand firmly and pulled him closer.

‘I do.’

*

Dinner was just fine. Stiles had decided on going to a Japanese-styled restaurant and ordered spicy beef ramen with extra noodles, several side-dishes and requested drinks multiple times. He was a big eater, and Jackson didn’t mind at all. Jackson opted for a chicken salad, which prompted some mocking comments from Stiles.

 ‘Watching your figure there?’

Stiles did decided to give Jackson a break, however, and lifted his aloof demeanour, although he still kept Jackson’s wallet and phone close to him, in case Jackson did try to dine-and-dash. But nothing like that happened. They talked, shared their common interests and discussed their majors. Jackson was about the start his Master’s degree in Family Law and Stiles still wasn’t too sure what he wanted: either take a Master in English Literature or Communication Management. At the moment, he was leaning more towards the Master in Literature. When the Asian waiter returned, asking if they would care for some desserts, Stiles joyously requested their ginger-and-caramel cheesecake, Jackson was amazed by the black hole in Stiles’s stomach.

When they left the restaurant, the street lanterns were lit and in the distance a lone saxophone sang some low, jazzy tunes. With the sun having set, a chilly breeze came and Stiles unwillingly shivered. Jackson, who also didn’t bring a jacket, pulled Stiles closer, sharing some body heat. His cologne smelled irresistible, a faint undertone of citrus.

‘Thanks for the dinner.’

‘Ah, you’re welcome. I owed you. Big time.’ Jackson squeezed Stiles’s shoulder.

‘Jackson!’ an unknown voice called.

A guy, unfamiliar to Stiles, came jogging towards them. He was dressed in what Stiles would call typical law student clothes: white, wrinkled shirt, classy, but overly stiff blazer, designer shoes, paid by daddy – or mommy –, a black leather briefcase, and a perfectly coiffed haircut. This guy was probably one of Jackson’s fellow students. Jackson’s clawed into Stiles’s shoulder, but he didn’t let go. Stiles momentarily flinched due to the sudden stinging pain, but quickly regained composure and put on a neutral face.

‘Greenberg,’ Jackson, clearly taken by surprise, was terrified. ‘What are you doing here?’ his voice trembled.

‘Had my last exam today, total bitch, but I think I passed. Went out to celebrate with the guys.’ His eyes were drawn to Stiles. ‘Who’s this? So cosy? Boyfriend?’ Greenberg’s toned quickly changed to disdainful.

Before Jackson could come up with something, Stiles replied ‘Nah, this guy?’ he slapped with the palm of his hand on Jackson’s chest. ‘He’s just supporting me. Got low blood sugar, kinda dizzy. He’s taking me back to my dorm.’

‘Oh.’ Greenberg took the bait.

Naïve bastard, Stiles could not help but think.

‘Well, I agreed to meet up with some guys at Triskele, the new club. Hey, Jackson, if you want you can come too? We haven’t seen you since, what, June?’

‘Yeah, sure, I’ll come.’ Jackson croaked. ‘Just gonna drop off Stiles here. Don’t want his death on my conscious.’ He let out a shaky laughter.

‘Alright, see you there, then!’ He shook hands with Jackson.  ‘Stiles.’ Greenberg nodded and left.

Jackson did not let go of Stiles the entire way home. His hands were sweaty and shaking. Neither spoke a word.

Back at their dorm, Stiles lingered at his door.

‘Are you going to that club?’ he asked carefully.

‘I’m afraid I have to. Do some damage control. Greenberg isn’t the brightest crayon, so there won’t be any real trouble, but…’

‘I understand.’ Stiles supported his back against the door. He looked to ceiling, his hair grazing the wood, noticing a little cobweb.                                                                                                

Jackson took a step closer, they were close.

‘Thanks.’ He said and then went in for a kiss. Stiles, caught off guard, was swept away. Jackson began with a slow sweet kiss, his hands roaming Stiles’s back, eventually resting on his lower back. He deepened the kiss, experimenting with a little bit of tongue, licking Stiles’s pink lips. Stiles, blank mind, greedily answered Jackson initiative, tasting him hungrily. He moaned lowly as Jackson pushed Stiles against the door with his entire weight, exploring each other. Stiles tugged at the black fabric of Jackson’s shirt. Their lower part, hard and throbbing, grinded together. As Jackson tentatively began lowering his hands a bit more south, Stiles’s mind went from blissful unawareness to dangerously working overtime.

‘You’re delicious.’ Jackson whispered.

What the hell was he doing? Panting a little, he moved his hands to Jackson’s chest, slowly pushing him away.

‘I don’t think we should be doing this.’

‘Heh, you sure?’ Jackson salaciously gazed at their bulges.

‘No, it’s too soon. I mean, I still haven’t forgiven you quite yet.’ That dampened the mood.

‘Fine,’ Jackson said, annoyed but understanding. ‘I’m going to get ready then.’

Before he left, he went in for one passionate kiss, which Stiles happily obliged to. Damn these hormones.

‘Have fun tonight.’

‘Without you? Will be hard.’ Again showing off a smug grin.

He watched Jackson disappear in his room before he entered his own. Once inside, he immediately dropped onto the bed, exhausted, processing what just had happened.

‘What the fuck am I doing?’ he mumbled into his pillow. At the same time, his phone started to vibrate. A new message.

Derek, ‘Hey, can we talk?’

‘Fuck.’


End file.
